


we are made of our longest days

by leonshardt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Fix-It, Gabriel Reyes is Catholic, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonshardt/pseuds/leonshardt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know,” Angela says, “He looks sad when he thinks you can’t see him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are made of our longest days

**Author's Note:**

> ot3 fix-it fic where nobody dies and the swiss headquarters doesn't blow up. 
> 
> warnings for suicidal ideation and alcoholism

“Some party, isn’t it?”

Gabriel lifts his head, breathes out smoke into the night sky. He had heard her approaching, the click of her heels distinct against the bustle of the crowd gathered inside. “Yeah,” he says. He takes another drag.

“Shouldn’t you be inside to enjoy it?” Angela’s hand is cool against his arm and she leans against him a little, shoulder to shoulder, a simple gesture of trust that they’ve shared for years.

“Can’t smoke inside.”

“Hm.”

She tilts her gaze and Gabriel follows it, to the reception hall, to the crowd and the warm lights and… Jack. The newly promoted commander stands out in the crowd, looking a little overwhelmed from all the congratulations, but still he smiles as the paparazzi flock in front of him. He is looking forward, does not see Angela and Gabriel on the balcony.

“You know,” Angela says, “He looks sad when he thinks you can’t see him.”

Gabriel pauses, words caught at the back of his throat. He watches distantly as Jack laughs at something someone said, grinning bashfully while the cameras flash. Gabriel finishes his cigarette, drops the stub and grinds it out under his heel. Damn Angela, always so perceptive. Always knowing too much. Angela just waits patiently, humming a little tunelessly to the music wafting up to the balcony.

“He looks perfectly happy where he is now,” Gabriel says finally.

“That’s because he knows you better than you think,” she says, and when Gabriel finally drops his gaze she’s looking at him, eyes so intense he feels like he’s drowning. Something about the fall of her golden hair, the long column of her bare throat, the way her knowing lips part slightly as she leans close to his ear—it digs into his spine, this feeling of _want_ he can’t quite quantify, not for lack of trying, and it leaves him dizzy, breathless, and more confused than he’d like to admit.

“You don’t know him like I do,” Gabriel says.

“No,” Angela says, “I don’t, do I?” And she smiles.

 

 

 

Gabriel Reyes does not speak God’s name anymore, not when it burns on his tongue, not when there’s a fault line between him everything his momma taught him, a fission between him and heaven. He has not stepped foot in a church in years. Doesn’t think he could anymore, even if he wanted.

Gabriel Reyes does not believe in angels anymore, but Angela Ziegler is not an angel. If anything, she’s a doctor, in the way that she doesn’t need a scalpel to take you apart when her bare hands will do, leave you shaking and wanting and cold, until she puts you back together and then you can’t help but feel it, the words on the tip of your tongue, _I love, I love, I love._

She’s a doctor, in the way that she wears her halo like a crown, and on the day she put on the Valkyrie suit she stood tall, let her wings carry her forward, did not look back, not even once.

She’s a doctor, in the way that she can look death in the face and say, _No, not today._

She’s a doctor, in the way that her hands look best covered in red.

 

 

 

“You smell like her, nowadays,” Gabriel says, and Jack looks up, circles dark under his eyes. His hair is golden like hers, smells like her perfume, and when Gabriel fucks him that night he tastes like the copper tang of blood.

 

 

 

“Oh, put it away,” Angela says, pursing her lips as Gabriel tips the bottle back, swallowing against the burn. “I can’t have you smelling like whiskey at the meeting! For God’s sake, Gabriel.” And Gabriel blinks slowly at that word— _God_ — and puts the bottle down, holds still as Angela ties Jack’s tie around his neck, smoothing his collar down flat.

 

 

 

“You fucking idiot,” Gabriel snarls, and there’s a hard lump in his throat that he chokes on, as he presses down on the bleeding ragged hole in Jack’s chest like he can keep the life in him if he tries hard enough.

“Come on, come on, we’ve been through worse than this, are you just going to let some Talon bastards take you out like this, it’s a goddamn embarrassment is what it is, Jack—“ and he can’t even finish his sentence because the tears are finally spilling and there’s only two people left in the world who can make him cry like this, and, and—

“Just leave it, Gabe,” Jack says. There’s blood between his teeth when he smiles, and he’s so, so tired. It’s in that moment that Gabriel realizes all over again that there are just some things he can’t fix with his shotguns and his two hands.

“You’re going to do this, Jack?” he says, “You’re really going to do this to Angela? She loves you, look, you can’t just—“

“You love me,” Jack says, and it isn’t a question. Gabriel closes his eyes, takes his hand into his, which is sticky with blood, and waits for the doctor to arrive.

 

 

 

Ten years later Gabriel carries a ring in his pocket, titanium and diamond in a box, and he never gets down on his knees, never asks, because the answer is plain and obvious, and he should know it by now, shouldn’t he? And after some time he puts it on a chain, wears it between his dog tags, because it’s every bit a part of him as anything else, because if he’s being honest, it’s what he would want his doctor and commanding officer to see first when the time finally comes.

“What is—are those—“ Jack says, leaning in closer to take a look. He thumbs the chain around Gabriel’s neck. “Those are my tags,” he says. “You bastard, I can’t believe you kept them after all this time.” Gabriel just grins against his neck, mouthing down to Jack’s collarbone.

“It’s very beautiful,” Angela says between them, working her hand up Gabriel’s thigh.

“Aren’t you going to ask who the lucky individual is?” Gabriel says, and Jack snorts.

“C’mon, don’t be an idiot. We both know you’re married to Overwatch,” he says, and Gabriel smiles, because little by little, day after day, he’s proving himself to be right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at my tumblr [over here](http://leonshardt.tumblr.com).


End file.
